Collision Course
by lisefads
Summary: A week after the storm devastated Arcadia Bay, Max and Chloe barely escaped with their lives in a showdown with Max's former art teacher, Mark Jefferson. Three years later, could he be on the hunt again?
1. Chapter 1

**Note:**

 _Welcome to the sequel to_ Tip of the Iceberg _!_

* * *

21-year-old Max Caulfield sat on the couch in the living room of her small apartment in the Pearl District of Portland. She had just returned from a long day of classes at Portland State University, where she was studying photography in the college of arts. Now, she just wanted to relax a little bit before working on the big term project that was due the middle of next month.

Max took her cell phone out of her pocket and turned on the screen. A shudder went through her body when she saw the date on the home screen. It read October 11, 2016.

 _This is it_ , she thought. It was the three-year anniversary of the giant tornado that devastated Arcadia Bay, where she had grown up and later returned to attend the prestigious Blackwell Academy for her senior year. What an adventure that had been. If the huge storm wasn't enough, she and her then-recently-reunited best friend Chloe had uncovered the biggest, most heinous criminal operation in the small town's history. Masterminded by her art teacher, the famous photographer Mark Jefferson, Max would've fallen victim herself had she not possessed mysterious time-travel powers. In fact, something in her mind told her that it was those powers that had caused the storm.

But the powers were gone now, and no strange weather phenomena had happened since. There was no way she could ever know for sure, only the horrifying thought that still occasionally crept into the back of her mind. She shut it out as best as she could.

Max's thoughts wandered to her friend Chloe. The week after the storm had brought them closer than ever as they journeyed across the state, escaping from a madman hungry for revenge. They had narrowly escaped with their lives, but Jefferson remained on the lam and was now on every authorities' most-wanted list. Max tried to not to think about him. _He's a wanted man. He's not going to try anything in a crowded city like this. And no way he's going back to Arcadia, where everyone knows what he looks like._

During the rest of her year at Blackwell, she visited her friend as often as her schedule would permit, sometimes sneaking off campus at night to hang out and smoke pot and drink beer. When that wasn't possible, they kept in constant touch via phone calls, text messages and social media. They were making up for lost time, and Max had promised that this time, they really would be forever.

 _So much for that,_ she sighed. Once again, now in her junior year of college, she had failed to hold up her end of the bargain. Sure, she didn't just leave without a word and not talk to Chloe again this time, but still, she should probably be calling her best friend more than once every few weeks. For a while, Chloe called much more often, but Max was always busy with something. She had asked to visit, too, but the timing never worked out. Recently, their communication had been even more infrequent. It had been a couple of months since they had last talked.

 _I should call her right now_ , Max decided. She hit "Call" on her phone.

"Hi, it's Chloe—"

"Chloe!" Max exclaimed.

"—I'm not here right now. So, uhh, leave a message at the tone, I guess. Or not. Do whatever you want."

 _Oh,_ Max realized, _it's just her voicemail_. She tried not to worry. _She's probably busy or sleeping,_ she rationalized. _I'll just call again later_.

After she finished a quick dinner of a ham sandwich and salad, she tried calling a second time. Once again, it went to voicemail.

Max tried her best to let it go for now as she began her term project.

* * *

The next morning, Max had all but forgotten about her anxiety the previous day as she boarded the light rail to campus. It was unusually warm for mid-October and there was not a cloud in the sky. Max loved days like this, when no matter how she was feeling, the weather would always lift her spirits.

When she arrived home that evening, however, she thought about Chloe once more. _I'd better call again._

Still there was no answer.

Max turned on the radio. She liked to listen to the news the old-fashioned way while she did her schoolwork. The guitar riffs of an old rock piece faded away as the station cut to the news anchor. He rambled for a few minutes about local sports, road closures and community events. The next part, though, caught Max's full attention:

"It was three years ago when the freak twister wiped out the little coastal town of Arcadia Bay. But that storm overshadowed something even more sinister, a criminal operation that for months operated right under the residents' noses. Blackwell Academy art teacher and former renowned photographer Mark Jefferson was allegedly the perpetrator of a plot to drug unsuspecting teenage girls and assault and photograph them in compromising positions. One girl, whose name we are withholding out of respect for the victim's family, overdosed on the sedatives and passed away. Jefferson was arrested on October 16, 2013 in Portland, but escaped federal custody the next morning and has been on the run ever since. Recently, the FBI has announced that it has received tips from anonymous citizens that he may be back in the Portland area. The authorities are looking into every tip they get and closely surveilling the region. Jefferson is forty-one years old, five-foot-ten, and is believed to weigh one hundred sixty pounds with short brown hair and thick-framed glasses. If you see him, you are asked to call nine-one-one immediately. Residents are cautioned not to approach him under any circumstances. He is likely armed and definitely dangerous."

Max shut off the radio. "Whoa," she muttered aloud. She knew that tracking down anyone in this city is like finding a needle in a haystack, but if anyone could do it, it would be Jefferson. The time she and Chloe had spent fleeing from him had taught her never to underestimate his abilities.

* * *

After learning of the worrying news, Max tried to live as normally as she could, and not think about the dangerous fugitive that may be in town. She thought about telling her parents about the news report she had heard, but decided not to worry them. As planned weeks ago, she took a Saturday trip with a college friend out to the Columbia Gorge for some hiking and sightseeing. She had seen Multnomah falls more times than she could count, but it still never failed to take her breath away. Refreshed and relaxed, that night, Jefferson was the last thing on her mind as she drifted off into a deep slumber.

Almost as soon as she had fallen asleep, it felt, Max was awoken by a knock at her door. She groggily checked her bedside clock radio. 8:17 a.m. What could anybody possibly want with her this early on a Sunday?

Then it hit her. _Oh, shit._ She jerked awake. As much as she knew rationally that there was no way Jefferson could've known where she lived, her heart started pounding all the same. Phone in hand and ready to dial 9-1-1 at a moment's notice, a terrified Max slowly crept toward the door. There was another series of knocks, louder this time.

"Open up!" a voice commanded. "Open up! This is the police!"

Max tiptoed nervously toward the door. The police? What could they possibly want with her? This isn't about the Jefferson thing, is it? Is this guy really legit? She attached the chain on the door and opened it a crack. Standing on the other wise was a man of about thirty and a slim six feet tall.

"'Morning, miss. Sorry to interrupt you so early. I'm Officer Jennings of the PPB." He slipped his badge and ID through the door so Max could have a look. "Last night, there was a break-in and robbery in this building. Is it okay if I ask you some questions?"

Max breathed a sigh of relief. Of course this was a completely unrelated case; not everything revolved around her. "Of course," she said. "Just let me take off the chain."

After asking a few questions, Jennings got up and gave Max his card. After getting an assurance from Max to contact him should she remember anything else, the officer left. Max went back to bed, but couldn't sleep anymore. Even though it wasn't her apartment that got robbed, the incident reminded her of how vulnerable she could be in the face of a dangerous criminal.

* * *

The following day felt like any typical Monday for Max. As usual, she headed to the library after classes to study and work on her assignments. This time, however, she stayed much later than normal to work on her big term project. Unable to find a group to work with, she had had no choice but to undertake the assignment alone. By the time she got up from her seat in one corner of the quiet reading room, it was after eight p.m. Only a few students remained in the large space, hunched over their books and computers. Outside, it was dark, and Max couldn't see any sign of activity in the main quad.

She didn't feel like cooking that night, so Max walked to one of her favorite places on campus for a slice of pizza and a soda. The streets felt eerily quiet as she stepped out of the small restaurant, her hunger satiated. She headed for the light rail stop.

As Max walked through a particularly dark area of the campus, all of a sudden, she felt a large hand roughly clasp her mouth. Her assailant's other hand grabbed her by the arm. She tried to scream, but all that came out was a muffled hiss.


	2. Chapter 2

Max's attacker dragged her toward some bushes away from the road. It was dark, and his face was veiled by a hood, so Max had no idea who it was. She feared the worst.

She struggled desperately to break free of her attacker's grasp, but the man was strong and his grip on her was fast. "Gimme your wallet!" he demanded gruffly.

Upon hearing that, Max almost relaxed in relief as she realized that her assailant was not Mark Jefferson, just a street thug. But she soon snapped back to reality as robber and victim continued to grapple beside the road. Soon, however, it became clear that it was a losing battle for Max.

Suddenly, they could hear the sound of a car engine, and it grew louder as it came closer to the two. The outline of a vehicle appeared and slowly moved closer to them. Mustering all her remaining strength, Max kicked at the mugger. Her boot connected with the man's shin, and he yelped in pain. Max took advantage of this momentary distraction and pried his hand away from her mouth. She screamed as loud as she could. "Help!"

"Help!" she yelled again, trying to catch the attention of the driver of the vehicle that she now saw was a small hatchback. "Hel—mrrmmph!" Her attacker covered her mouth, silencing her once more.

But the hatchback's driver had heard her shouts. The car screeched to a halt. The driver-side door opened, and out stepped the outline of what appeared to be a man of slim build and average height. Max's attacker let go of her and dashed off into the shadows.

The man walked toward Max. Only, Max realized that it wasn't a man at all. Moreover, the figure looked very familiar, like someone she had known for years. Max's jaw dropped open in astonishment.

"Chloe?"

"Wait a minute," her friend shouted. "Max? Is that you?"

"Oh, Chloe!" cried Max. They ran into each other's arms and embraced tightly. "Wha—what are you doing here?"

"Saving your life, apparently," Chloe replied. "Looks like I came just in time. Oh, God, Max! Are you all right?"

"Yeah, th—thanks to you," Max stammered. "I need to call the police!"

"C'mon, I'll give you a ride to the station," Chloe offered.

The girls rode in silence as Chloe navigated to a nearby police station. After the initial adrenaline rush from the attempted robbery had worn off, Max was exhausted and just wanted to sleep.

Chloe finally spoke up. "So, this is what it takes for us to see each other, huh?" In contrast to her earlier excitement of finally seeing her friend, her voice was cold and sharp; it cut through the air like a knife.

"Chloe, I'm so sorry!" Max said. She started blurting words out rapidly, as fast as she could think of them: "I wanted to call you, I swear I did, but there was always something going on or it just never seemed to be the right time and I was going to message you too but it just felt so impersonal so I wanted to wait until I could call you and then I called you several times last weekend and you never answered and I know I should've texted you or posted on your Facebook or something oh Chloe I'm so sorry..." She trailed off and the car fell quiet again.

A minute later, Max started her apology over. "Chloe, I care about you. More than anything in the world. We went through so much together; I did everything to protect you—"

"Oh, so you're just gonna hold that over me forever now? Is that it?" Chloe interrupted bitterly. "Well, I just saved you, so now we're even, right? That's the extent of our relationship? Should we go our separate ways now? Max, you're not even gonna ask me why I'm in Portland?"

Max felt miserable. She knew Chloe was right, that she had been taking her friend for granted. She couldn't think of anything else to say, but fortunately, she was saved by their arrival at the police precinct. Max breathed a sigh of relief as she got out of the car.

After she had given her statement and agreed to return to the station in the morning to meet with a sketch artist, even though she'd only caught a glimpse of the man's face before he ran away, she walked out into the chilly night air. Chloe was still there, leaning against her car parked at the curb.

"I'll drive you home," she said.

Neither girl said a word as Chloe drove Max back to her apartment. As they pulled up to the entrance, Max tried again to make peace. "Thanks for the ride."

"Mm-hmm," was all she got in response.

"Look, we'll talk soon, I promise. And you still need to explain to me what you're doing here. And we've gotta hang out!"

"Sure, whatever," Chloe mumbled barely loud enough for Max to hear.

Max watched dejectedly as her friend drove away.

* * *

Max felt awful for the rest of the week. She texted Chloe daily, asking how she was doing, updating her on what was going on at school, trying to start a conversation, any conversation, but all she got in reply were short, one- and two-word responses.

With all that weight on her mind, she couldn't concentrate on her schoolwork at all. Over the next month, she slogged through her term project halfheartedly, and finally managed to put together something passable at the last minute. As she handed in the assignment, she was glad to finally be able to enjoy a quiet evening at home and not have to think about school. Plus, there was the week-long Thanksgiving break to look forward to. That Saturday, glass of wine in hand, she settled on the couch and tuned into the local NBC station, looking forward to _Saturday Night Live_.

The TV was still showing the local newscast. She was about to change the channel when the next segment caught her attention:

"Last month, the FBI announced that they had received anonymous tips that a dangerous fugitive, Mark Jefferson may be in the Portland area. Jefferson escaped police custody here three years ago, and while further investigation by the authorities uncovered the full extent of the gruesome kidnapping and child pornography operation he was running in Arcadia Bay while teaching at a local private high school, he was never found. The FBI has released an update to their earlier report, stating that they no longer believe Jefferson is in the state of Oregon. Agent Samantha G. Scott of the Portland field office, who is heading this case, told us that every year, around the anniversary of the discovery, there have been gatherings of a small number of loyal fans of Jefferson who stir up rumors of his return. She said that these fans are not unlike those who cheered the exploits of Bonnie and Clyde back in the thirties, outlaws whom were seen as symbols of defiance against authority and whose story is still romanticized to this day—"

Max choked back tears. _Fans?!_ What kind of disgusting, perverted people were out there that actually admired a monster like Jefferson? Do they not understand the gravity of his actions? Or are they spinning it in their heads into some twisted, sick romantic tale? Too upset to continue watching TV, she crawled into bed without bothering to undress and stared at the ceiling for hours until she finally fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Max woke early the next morning. She was bathed in sweat, her layers of clothing sticky and uncomfortable. Peeling them off and throwing them into the laundry hamper, she stepped into the bathtub for a long, hot shower.

After putting on a T-shirt and sweatpants, Max went to the kitchen and grabbed a box of cereal for breakfast. As she opened the refrigerator to get the milk, out of the corner of her eye she noticed something on the floor just inside the door to her apartment.

Leaving the milk, she went and picked it up. It was a white envelope with a letter-sized sheet of paper neatly folded in thirds. On it was a single line in neat, academic typeface:

 _I'm sorry. Can we start over?_

 _Chloe!_ Max thought. Her friend must be looking to reconcile! _I need to call her right now._

That turned out to be unnecessary, for Max had scarcely picked up her phone when she heard a knock on her door. Not bothering to attach the chain this time, she opened the door eagerly. Sure enough, there was her tall, blue-haired friend.

Max wrapped her arms around Chloe in a bear hug, almost knocking her friend over. "Oh, Chloe! I'm so glad to see you! I got your note and I am _so_ sorry and I promise to be a better friend—"

"Whoa, Max," replied Chloe in surprise. "Calm down. What note?"

"The one you sent me!" Max exclaimed excitedly. "You know, saying that we should start over? Isn't that why you're here?"

"No, I'm here because of the note you sent me!"

Now both girls were puzzled. "Umm, I didn't send you a note," said Max.

"How do you explain this, then?" Reaching into her pocket, Chloe pulled out a sheet of paper. Max did the same. The two pages were identical.

"Holy shit," both girls muttered in unison. "How did this happen?" Chloe wondered.

"Someone must be stalking us," Max replied nervously. "Oh, God." She scurried to the all the windows and drew the blinds. "You think someone's watching us right now?"

"Maybe. We've gotta give this to the police."

Max quickly got dressed. As the girls walked out onto the street, she was greeted by the familiar sight of Chloe's old pickup truck. Again, the ride was silent as they headed for the precinct.

Max felt extremely uncomfortable and tried to ease the tension. "So, umm, what exactly brings you to Portland, anyway? And where was your truck the other day?"

Chloe sighed, but finally gave a complete answer. "Got a job here waiting tables at Pigeon and Pork. You know, the new diner that just opened up across the street from the Screen Door. Even classic breakfast joints have to have hipster names here, I guess. Anyway, you know how I've always wanted to leave Arcadia Bay. So I jumped at the opportunity. As for my truck, it was in the shop. Some jackass rear-ended it while it was parked the day after I moved here. Never left a note or anything. The hatchback was a loaner."

Max knew that the famous Screen Door restaurant was halfway across town, on the other side of the Willamette River. "What were you doing at PSU, then?"

"I don't know, dude," Chloe admitted. She drew a long breath, then finally continued, "I was just driving around, clearing my head. I guess... I guess I was kinda hoping I would see you..."

"So you do miss me!" Max exclaimed in surprise.

"Of course I miss you!" Chloe shouted angrily. "Max, you're my best friend! How do you think I felt when you ignored my calls and texts and stopped talking to me for weeks at a time? I tried to tell you I was moving to Portland, and you never heard or saw any of it! I wanted to see you, Max, if only you'd let me!"

Before her passenger could say anything in response, Chloe stopped the truck. She took a deep breath and lowered her voice. "We're here. Let's just get this over with."


	3. Chapter 3

Max and Chloe walked into the police station. The front desk officer looked bored as she looked over the identical printed notes they had produced. "I get this stuff all the time," she declared flatly. "It's always just a prank by some punk-ass joker looking for attention."

"Shouldn't you be taking all suspicious notes seriously?" asked an exasperated Max.

"Sister, tell you what, I will, if you give me a million dollars to get some more manpower in here," the officer replied sarcastically. Her name tag was covered with some sort of dark stain. Coffee, probably, Chloe decided.

Once she learned of the girls' connection to the Jefferson case, however, she immediately snapped to attention and grew serious.

"Whoa, you're those two girls? Why didn't you tell me? Okay, wait here." The officer got up and disappeared into the main office.

It was a long, exhausting interview. Max and Chloe were taken into separate interrogation rooms and grilled by several detectives all asking the same questions. Mostly, they were about the girls' relationship and interactions with Jefferson and whether they might have any clues to his whereabouts. Both had to recount the last three years of their lives in great detail, the detectives hoping to pick up something, anything, that may offer a lead. Finally, a man entered Max's room who wasn't dressed in uniform like the other detectives. He introduced himself as Agent Grayson of the FBI, who was working under Agent Scott on the Jefferson case.

After another hour of questioning, Grayson got up from his seat.

"I would advise you to stay somewhere else for a little while," he told Max. "We still don't think it's likely that Jefferson's here, but considering your connection to this case, we should play it safe. Do you have anywhere to go? I'll talk to our agents; we might also look into relocating you to a secure facility until we find Jefferson."

"I can go stay at my parents' house in Seattle," she said. "School's out for Thanksgiving break, anyway. They're actually away right now, traveling in the Amazon, but I have a key. They just moved last year, so Jefferson wouldn't know where it is from the school records."

"Okay," Grayson agreed. "It would probably be best if Miss Price stayed with you. Stick together, and stay safe. We'll get someone from our Seattle office to check in once in a while. Stay there until after Thanksgiving. We'll assess the threat level and let you know if further measures need to be taken." He pulled out a business card and handed it to Max. "Call me when you get there."

At any other time in the past, Max would've been thrilled to spend a week living with her best friend, but after all that's happened between them lately, she wasn't exactly sure what to expect. Could this be their best chance at clearing the air and bonding again, or would their physical proximity be the last straw that would permanently destroy their friendship? She wondered how Chloe would feel about this arrangement.

Chloe, as it turned out, could not have been more indifferent to the plan. When Grayson told her, her only response was an expressionless "Okay."

"Good," said Grayson. "Go home and pack your bags. We'll have an agent keep an eye on your apartments. After that, you're on your own until you get to Seattle. This should go without saying, but get there as quickly as possible. No unnecessary stops. No scenic routes. I heard about the little stunt you pulled the last time you were told to go somewhere. You know how that ended. I'm expecting you there by six p.m. Call me if you think you're being followed."

Indeed, the girls' little "stunt" had resulted them wrecking their car and getting lost deep in the Oregon woods, not to mention a near-fatal encounter with Mark Jefferson himself. Both knew they wouldn't be taking any detours this time.

When Max and Chloe exited their respective interrogation rooms, the clock on the office wall read 1:12 p.m. Outside, the morning sun had become obscured by dark clouds. A light drizzle fell as they walked out the door and onto the street.

Chloe dropped Max off at her apartment, then went back to her own place to pack her things. An hour later, she picked Max up again and they turned onto the ramp for the freeway to Seattle.

"I'm so glad you're coming to Seattle with me," said Max. "I can't wait to show you around! There's so much to do and so many things to see; you're gonna love it."

"Yeah, it's a pretty cool place," replied Chloe without much enthusiasm. "I haven't gone since I was a little kid."

Max went on, "Let's go up the Space Needle. And ride the ferris wheel. And we'll check out the EMP Museum. And shop at Pike Place. Oh, and you've gotta see the Fremont Troll! And the punk scene! You're gonna be right at home."

Finally, Chloe managed a chuckle. "If we don't die from exhaustion first!"

They both laughed. Max wondered if the air had at last cleared between them. For the rest of the ride, the long moments of silence didn't feel quite as awkward, the small talk less forced. Still, it was far from warm and friendly.

Three hours and a short restroom stop later, the girls entered the limits of King County. The rain was pouring down now, and fog enshrouded the highway. When they passed through Downtown Seattle, the skyscrapers were virtually invisible. Strong winds rattled the truck's old panels and made the entire cab shudder. Chloe slowed down as they met heavier traffic.

"Take the Five-Twenty Bridge to Bellevue," Max instructed. "My parents live just on the other side of the lake."

Just as she said that, however, the truck passed an electronic sign that read, "SEVERE WEATHER - SR-520 I-90 BRIDGES CLOSED."

Max let out a short groan. "Guess we'll have to go all the way around the lake, then. That's gonna take an extra hour."

"It's almost six p.m.," her friend observed. "Better call Grayson and tell him we'll be late."

Max reached in her pocket for the card, only to realize it wasn't there. "Shit," she muttered. _Where could it be? Why didn't I save the number on my phone?  
_

"We need to get gas, too," Chloe announced. The needle on the fuel gauge was barely above the large "E" symbol.

They exited the highway and pulled into a gas station. While Chloe filled up, Max looked around for Agent Grayson's card. She finally found it and saved the number on her phone. She dialed as Chloe drove back onto the road. She explained the bridge closure and that they were going to be late.

"I see," said Grayson. "We have a surveillance van watching your block, making sure you arrive safely and without anyone following. Please get there as soon as possible, since the van might arouse suspicion if it's there for too long. Do NOT engage with them or even acknowledge their presence."

"We won't," answered Max. "Thanks." She listened as the agent described the van they were to expect.

Twenty minutes later, Chloe's truck was rounding the northern end of Lake Washington. They were halfway there, and the traffic report on the radio indicated no further delays.

"Surveillance van, huh?" Chloe said when Max told her about the phone call. "I wonder if it's like in those movies where there's a fake company's logo painted on the side."

"Yeah, 'Sunny's Landscaping,' apparently. Real fitting. Do you think we're safe, though?"

"Well, no one's following us, I'm sure of that," Chloe assured. "The feds are going all-out on this. Jefferson won't be on the loose for long. They'll get him." She didn't sound too optimistic.

* * *

Mark Jefferson sat in his nondescript red minivan he had parked in front of the Caulfield household since early that afternoon. The streets were mostly empty, with only the occasional car or pedestrian passing by every few minutes. Only an extremely observant person would've noticed the sun shades covering every window and realized how out-of-place they were in the rainy fall climate. They blocked the van's interior from view completely, allowing Jefferson to be inside undetected. In the back, a large monitor fed from a couple of small cameras mounted at the base of the windshield.

The former teacher chuckled to himself. _This was almost too easy_ , he thought. Max's parents may have moved after she graduated from Blackwell, and they had been careful to protect their online identity and opt out of the local phone directory, but that didn't stop Jefferson from looking up public records in libraries and government offices until he managed to track them down here in Bellevue.

He first came by on the past Friday, expecting Max Caulfield to come home for Thanksgiving. Strangely, though, there seemed to be no activity whatsoever inside the house. He came by again on Saturday, but it was just as still as before. Now, on Sunday, after he paid an associate to leave two identical notes at Max's and her friend Chloe's apartments, he was certain that they were going to take refuge here. Then, he could finally do whatever he felt like with the two girls who had ruined his life three years ago.

Shortly after five p.m., a large gray van with "Sunny's Landscaping" parked across the street twenty yards away. At first, Jefferson thought nothing of it, but he noticed that, for the next hour-and-a-half, no one got in or out of the vehicle and there were certainly no yards being landscaped. If it was someone returning home after work, wouldn't they have parked in their driveway? It must've been a surveillance van.

They weren't going to be there 24/7, were they? For all the FBI knew, he was probably on the other side of the country. This should just be a precautionary measure.

Then, an idea came to him. _Maybe I could use that to my advantage._ As discreetly as possible, he repositioned a camera toward the van and snapped a picture of the fake company logo. _Now, I just need to figure out their schedule.  
_


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Chloe pulled the truck into the Caulfield driveway, night had fallen and the storm had let up to just a light shower.

"Park in the garage," Max instructed. "My parents' car's at the airport."

As she unlocked the front door, they heard the sound of a car engine starting behind them on the street. Turning around, the girls saw the "Sunny's Landscaping" van drive away. They really were on their own now.

The first thing Chloe did when she entered the house was raid the kitchen looking for dinner. When she found the fridge and pantry empty, save for a large turkey in the freezer, she began searching online for nearby pizza delivery. Meanwhile, Max hit the shower.

An hour later, the two friends sat around the dining room table, slices of ham and pineapple in hand.

"So, what do you want to do tomorrow?" Max asked.

"Sleep. I've been up since before eight this morning. Oh, yeah, I'd better call the diner, too. Tell 'em I've got a family emergency."

"What about David?" Max wondered.

"No way!" Chloe shook her head. "He's just gonna get mad again and order me around. He does _not_ need to know about this."

"Well, I'm kind of glad my parents are way off the grid right now. They're gonna freak out if they ever found out." Max took sip of soda and continued, "Chloe, about what's happened between us this past little while... do you want to talk about it?"

"What's there to talk about? We're cool."

"We are?" Max wanted to feel relief, but something about Chloe's tone lacked sincerity. She just hoped that some time together would heal the wound.

"Sure, whatever. Gotta stick together now that that psycho killer's after us again, right?"

"Man, if only we had any idea where he is..."

"Okay, you know what?" Chloe suddenly declared. "You're right."

"I am?"

"Let's find out for ourselves. Max, we can't let him come to us and catch us in our sleep. We need to track down this asshole, like we found Rachel and the Dark Room. _You_ know him, the feds don't. Are you with me, Max?"

Max nodded grimly. "You know I am. Let's do this. But where do we start?"

"I don't know," Chloe admitted. "But we'll think of something. We always do."

Max stifled a yawn. "Well, I know what I'm gonna do. Hit the sack. _Sleep till eleven, you'll be in heaven._ "

"Huh?"

"Portlandia!" Max giggled.

Chloe groaned. "Of course you'd watch that."

* * *

Max and Chloe both slept well into the morning. When Max finally woke up, she showered, got dressed and went to wake her friend in the next room.

"Mmmm," Chloe mumbled. "It's eleven already?"

"Almost noon, actually. Come on, the city's waiting for us."

An hour later, they had crossed the lake on the now-reopened bridge and sat down for a very late breakfast at a small cafe in the Capitol Hill neighborhood of Seattle. It was yet another wet day, and large raindrops pattered against the awning outside the door. As they waited for their pancakes, Max and Chloe couldn't help but talk about the case.

"Do you think we can assume that he's in the city?" Max wondered.

"Oh, hell, yeah," Chloe answered without hesitation. "He's a clever bastard. He knows where we are, if not your exact address. Actually, he's going to be looking for your address right now, if he hasn't found it already. He found both of us in Portland."

"How? It's not like we post that stuff on Facebook, even privately."

"No, but we post pictures and statuses and comments and stuff. There's probably clues in those that point to where we live. Like, there are pictures of me on Pigeon and Pork's page. It's a new joint that got a lot of hype; it's pretty visible on social media. And your work at Portland State has bound to have gotten some publicity online, too. Once he knew where we worked or went to school, he could've gotten his hands on our files somehow, or just did a lot of reverse image searches."

"Okay, so he knows where we live in Portland, then what? You think he followed us to Seattle?"

"I doubt it," Chloe insisted. "I was extra careful about that on the drive over. I'm pretty sure we were clear."

"An educated guess, then?"

"Probably. Where else could we have gone? Neither of us has any extended family in this part of the country. There's no way he's showing his face back in Arcadia, so Seattle was his only option."

"All right," Max agreed. "So, he's in Seattle, and he knows we're here. If you were him, where would be the first place you'd go to track down my parents' house?"

Chloe thought for a moment. "The library," she answered.

"Right, he can look at old newspapers to see if there are any mentions of us. Any maybe the phone books, too."

At that moment, their food arrived. The girls ate in silence, both deep in thought about how they were going to outsmart an extremely smart criminal. Finally, after Chloe took her last bite, she got up and said, "All right, to the library." She walked to the counter to pay.

Max got up and paid as well. Her pancakes were left half-eaten as she hurried to catch up to Chloe out on the street.

Twenty minutes later, Chloe parked the truck in a garage next to the main branch of the public library. The postmodern glass-and-steel structure loomed high over their heads as they approached the entrance. Every time Max looked at it, it reminded her of something different. Today, it just looked like a crumpled piece of paper. She tried not to let her imagination run wild when there was a task at hand.

"This is the weirdest building I've ever seen," Chloe pronounced.

"Come on," Max urged. "Wait till you see the inside."

They walked through the doors and into a large atrium. Far from the quiet one would typically associate with libraries, this space buzzed with activity. Visiting tourists snapped pictures, librarians at the front desk helped patrons find their desired material among the massive stacks, people sipped beverages in the cafe and there was a small gift shop in one corner. Above them rose level after level of book collections, spanning every topic one could possibly think of. The morning rain had let up, and natural light radiated from the glass roof at the very top as well as all the sides.

Chloe let out a whistle. "Not bad. I bet you loved to come here, didn't you?"

"It's kinda far from our house, but sometimes on the weekend," Max admitted.

"You have a strange definition of fun."

The girls went to the main desk. "Excuse me," Max asked one of the librarians behind the counter, a short man with graying hair in his mid-fifties, "but have you seen this man come in here recently?" She took out her phone and showed the man a photograph of Mark Jefferson.

"Hmm." The man thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "As a matter of fact, I think I have. He had no glasses and much longer hair that was blond, but I'm pretty sure it's him."

 _Of course he'd disguise himself_ , Max thought. "Do you know what he was looking for?"

"I think so. Why do you ask?"

"Oh. Umm..." Max tried to think of something, but was at a loss for words.

Fortunately, Chloe, ever thinking on her feet, stepped in. "He's our teacher, and he told us about this big year-end assignment that we were going to get, but wouldn't tell us what it is. We know he likes to come here, so maybe he was looking up things related to our project."

The librarian chuckled. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give you girls a leg up on the competition for thinking outside the box like that, huh? All right, he asked me for the newspaper archives. Exactly what he wanted to look at, you'll have to ask him yourselves."

"Thanks," said Max. "Where are they?"

"Oh, most of them are online now." He sounded quite proud of that fact. "Just log into one of the computers with your library card and follow the instructions at the station. You'll find everything you need there. Oh, and, wanna know a secret?"

Chloe was fervently gesturing to an open computer terminal nearby, but Max remained patient. "Sure, what is it?"

"If you want the biggest collection of local newspapers, go to the U-Dub library," the librarian informed her, referring to the famous University of Washington at the northern end of the city. "They've got everything from every little town in the state."

"Thanks, sir! You've been a big help."

* * *

"Okay, we've been at this for two hours," Chloe groaned. She and Max had been poring over every digitized newspaper archive they could find, but so far had come up with nothing on Max's parents.

"I guess my parents weren't famous enough to make the national newspapers."

"We sure are, though."

Chloe was right. The massive storm that had torn apart Arcadia Bay was the subject of worldwide news, but almost as famous was Mark Jefferson's murderous pursuit of the two girls who had discovered his criminal operation three years ago.

"Okay, that's not what we're looking for," Max said. "We need to focus."

"We need a break," Chloe declared. "Come on, I'll buy you a coffee."

As they sipped their drinks, Max's black and Chloe's with one sugar and cream, the shorter girl suddenly thought of something. "Hey, didn't the guy say that the University library had all the local papers? If my parents weren't famous enough for the big ones, maybe there could've at least been something about them in the smaller ones. Like, about their involvement in the community or something."

"Okay, U-Dub it is."

But it was Thanksgiving break, and as they found out through the library website, it was closing early that day. "Just our luck," Chloe muttered.

"We'll go tomorrow, first thing in the morning," Max decided. She got up and headed for the exit. "Come on, let's get outta here."


	5. Chapter 5

"Remember that epic water fight we had that day in the woods?" Chloe recalled.

The two friends were sitting beside the large International Fountain in Seattle Center. In the summer, its spray would have drenched countless children and adults alike looking for a respite from the heat or just on a dare from friends, but in the cold fall weather, there was no one playing in it.

The fountain was in the middle of the Seattle Center complex, home to some of Seattle's most iconic landmarks and attractions. Surrounding them were the famous Space Needle tower, various museums of music, glass art and science among others, arts venues, performance theaters, gallery spaces and a football stadium. It was truly a cultural hub unto itself.

The sun was beginning to set, casting an orange hue on the sky above.

"Yeah," Max laughed. "We were soaked the rest of the day! And then, you know, my art teacher found us and tried to kill us."

"Good times," Chloe reminisced. "What happened to us? We never did go camping in the woods, or road trip across the Northwest, or explore Portland like locals. We'd made all those plans, Max, but all we did after you finished school was drift apart again."

"I'd by lying if I said I knew," Max replied. "I really don't, Chloe. All I know is that I feel awful about it and I really wish I could make it up somehow.

"But," she continued, "we're here now, aren't we? Together. So let's make the most of it."

"Well, I think we could make more of it if Jefferson was behind bars. We need to find him before he hurts us again." Max could see the determination in her friend's face.

Chloe stood up. "I don't know about you, but I'm hella starving. What's good for food around here?"

"Let's just walk downtown and see. But first, we'd better check in with Agent Grayson."

The federal agent had no news to report. The surveillance van had checked in on Max's neighborhood several times that day, but had found nothing unusual or suspicious. They were now looking through anonymous tips again and cross-referencing it with security camera footage in the area, but it was slow going.

"We're also gonna call on some of our CIs—informants—in the underground and try to make some sense of these tips," Grayson explained. "Again, just be careful, ladies, and report anything suspicious you might see. Keep a low profile and don't attract attention to yourselves."

After enjoying a burger and fries at a local joint, the girls returned to Chloe's truck, still parked beside the library, and headed home.

* * *

The next morning, the girls had stopped for breakfast at the same cafe they'd visited the day before. After that, they headed across the Lake Washington Canal into the University of Washington. Majestic 19th-century stone buildings mingled effortlessly with modern concrete-and-glass structures in this renowned place of learning, and along the main quad were cherry trees that Max knew would be spectacular when they blossomed come spring. The Thanksgiving break meant that there wasn't the usual crowd of students, but Max did see a few walking along the paths or throwing footballs on the grass. After parking the truck, they walked to the main library near the center of campus.

Max and Chloe sat themselves at a microfilm reader and began going through every issue of every local community newspaper they could find since the Caulfield family's move to Bellevue.

It was slow going. Most of the smaller papers that still existed in print form had yet to be digitized, so they couldn't just run a keyword search through an issue. "This is going to take forever," Chloe complained.

"Look on the bright side: at least most of these only publish two or three times a week. And there's only ten or fifteen pages. And, like, ninety percent of the pages are ad space."

"That's even worse! If I see Ed's Cleaners telling me one more time how they only use the most environmentally-friendly chemicals, I'm gonna shoot myself in the head."

Three hours later, at one p.m., Max at last agreed that it was time for a lunch break.

As they filled up on pizza at a nearby food court, Max and Chloe talked strategy. "What if we don't find anything here? What do we do then?" Max wondered.

"I don't know," Chloe admitted. "I think we'll find something, though. We haven't even gone through, like, a third of the collection yet. Good thing your folks only moved last year, or there would've been a _lot_ more material to comb through." She took another bite, and continued, "I guess we could interview your neighbors next. Ask if they've noticed anything suspicious in the last couple of months."

"That's not a bad idea," Max concurred.

"And then... I don't know. Maybe check out where your parents hang out, and look there." Chloe finished her last slice. "But, come on, we still have a lot of newspapers to go through."

"Where was this enthusiasm an hour ago?" Max teased.

"I was hungry!"

Once again, the girls fired up the microfilm machine and went through each reel page by page. They learned more than they could ever have wanted to about the Johnsons' dog that could supposedly perform arithmetic, the Chows' parrot that swore at passersby on the street, the Gomezes' collection of Civil War medals or the local underdog basketball team that took down one of the powerhouse schools to advance to state.

However, just before the library was to close, their persistence finally paid off as Max found an article from the previous December in the _West Bellevue Community Outpost_ about Christmas light displays that featured the Caulfield residence in a photo collection of best-decorated houses that holiday season. A note under the title stated that the piece was sponsored by the West Bellevue Business Improvement Association.

"Huh," Chloe observed. "Looks like they won a prize from the BIA for that display. That could be worth checking out."

"Let's head there now!" Max hissed excitedly, as they walked back to Chloe's truck.

"No dice. It's almost five. They're gonna be closed in a bit. We'll go first thing tomorrow." She looked up the address on her phone. "Looks like they're still open tomorrow, the day before Thanksgiving."

Max gasped. Thanksgiving! In all the excitement and fear of searching for a dangerous killer, neither girl had given much thought to the holiday that was just two days away. "Thanksgiving! My parents are coming home tomorrow! I'm supposed to buy groceries and thaw the turkey before they get back!"

"And I'm supposed to be back in Arcadia," Chloe remembered. "I wonder why David hasn't called about plans yet. He usually obsesses over it. We're supposed to have my mom's family over this year. They're flying in all the way from Arkansas. And, well, even though she's gone, he still wants to make it a special day for them. They love him, you know."

"Chloe, I'm so sorry. I know we're supposed to stay here until Grayson says it's safe to go back, but I'm sure he'll be fine with you going back to Arcadia Bay."

"No way! We're finding Jefferson, and we're finding him now, and that's that. Every moment delayed is just going to make it more dangerous for us." They reached the truck, and Chloe climbed into the driver's seat while Max got in the other side.

As Chloe started the engine, she repeated, "I can't go back, Max."

"What are you going to tell David?"

"I'll make something up. Tell him I'm needed at work or something. Come on, let's go buy those groceries. Looks like I'll be spending Thanksgiving here."

"Of course; you know you're always welcome."

An hour later, as they turned onto Max's street, they saw the "landscaping" van parked in almost the same spot as it had been the day before. After the shopping was unpacked, the turkey taken out of the freezer and the girls showered and changed into pajamas, Chloe took a look out the window and saw that the van was still there.

"Hey," she called to Max, "Didn't they say they'd only be driving by the neighborhood once in a while? Why is it stopped there?"

"I don't know," Max replied from the bathroom. "Maybe they changed their minds and wanted to keep this place under closer watch. Leave them alone. Grayson said not to acknowledge their presence, remember?"

"Yeah, I guess." Chloe didn't sound convinced, but she made no further comment as the girls settled on the couch and Chloe dialed her stepfather's phone number.

* * *

Mark Jefferson sat in the cargo van he had purchased from a used-car lot the previous morning. Those vehicle wrapping people sure did a great job with it. He'd given them the photo of the "Sunny's Landscaping" logo he'd taken from the FBI van, and less than twenty-four hours later it was plastered to the side of the van and ready to go. It wasn't the exact same model as the FBI's van, but from a distance, he doubted anyone would notice the difference.

Suddenly, the former teacher noticed a pair of headlights moving closer. They definitely belonged to a van. He quickly reached for a cord hanging inside the passenger-side window and pulled. Outside, a piece of cloth draped over the side of the van, covering up the fake company logo. Jefferson breathed a sigh of relief as the "real" landscaping van drove past. A sinister smile appeared on his face and he couldn't help but compliment himself for his ingenuity.

* * *

Max took another look out the window. "Looks like that van's gone. Funny thing, though, there's another one there that looks really similar, just without the logo."

Chloe put her cell phone on the coffee table and turned on the speakerphone so both girls could hear. Max sat back down as the call connected.

"Hello, Chloe. How's it going? How's Seattle? Say hi to Max for me, will ya?"


	6. Chapter 6

Max's heart skipped a beat. _How does he know where we are?_ Chloe simply sat still with no expression on her face.

"You're shocked, aren't you?" David's voice broke the silence. "What, you didn't think the FBI would notify me about my stepdaughter's case? Were you planning on letting me know at all that you weren't coming home for Thanksgiving?"

"I didn't want you to worry!" Chloe bellowed into the phone. "Of course I was gonna let you know! Why do you think I'm calling you now!"

"Young lady, do not raise your voice at me!"

Chloe seethed with frustration, but lowered her voice. "We're _this_ close to finding that maniac Jefferson! I can't leave now!"

" _You?!_ " David shouted. " _You_ were supposed to keep a low profile and stay safe! That does _not_ mean playing detective!"

"Oh, yeah? As if the FBI are closer? What have they done besides watch our house from a van every once in a while?"

"They're not—" David started to yell, then composed himself. "It doesn't matter, Chloe. Look, I know we don't always get along, but I love you, I really do, and I can't let this bastard hurt my family even more than he already has! Please, Chloe, please just try to look at it from my side. Why can't you understand?"

"I understand that he killed my mom and for that, he needs to die!"

"And you getting hurt is supposed to help, how? Chloe, please, just come home tomorrow. I've already told Grayson and Scott that you're coming back, and they're fine with it. Don't you want to see the rest of your family?"

Upon the mention of Chloe's family, her face grew pained. "I—I do..." she whimpered softly. "But—"

"No buts. Come on, your friend Max needs time with her family, too. Don't deny her that for some silly delusion of revenge. Most importantly, don't deny yourself the important things in life for it."

"Fine," Chloe relented. "I'll go for Thanksgiving dinner with my family. But I am _not_ staying there with you, no matter what you say."

David sighed audibly. "Just come back tomorrow. I'm expecting you by late afternoon. And this goes without saying, but no scenic detours!"

As Chloe hung up, Max, who had heard the entire conversation, said, "So, you're really going back, huh?"

"I guess," Chloe muttered. "I do really miss my mom's family—my family. They're the only family I have."

"You have me," Max tried to console.

"That remains to be seen."

Just then, Max's phone rang. She looked at the caller ID. "It's my parents!" She hit the accept button. "Mom! Dad!"

"Hey, honey," Ryan Caulfield's firm but gentle voice came through. "How're you doing? Enjoying yourself around the house?"

"I'm fine, Dad. Chloe's here with me, actually. We've just been exploring and showing her around town. Where's Mom?"

"Good to hear! Listen, sweetie, your mom's talking with the travel agent right now. We're, umm, having a major storm come through tomorrow. They canceled our flight out. So we're trying to get something for tonight. But so is everyone else here. It's not looking good right now. They said it's gonna be a once-in-a-hundred years sort of thing."

"Oh, my God!" Max exclaimed. "Are you guys gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, we've got good shelter here. Concrete bunker with the works. Don't worry about us, Max. We're not even in the center of its path right now. Just the main airport is. It's the only way to leave once the roads get washed out. They said worst-case scenario, it might be a few days before things get up and running again. You know how it is in developing countries."

"No, I don't know! Oh, my God!"

"Hey, sweetie, listen to me, okay? Seriously, we're gonna be fine. Really! We'll just be delayed a few days, at worst. Max, is there somewhere you can go for Thanksgiving?"

At that moment, Chloe spoke up, "Yes, Mr. Caulfield, she can come with me!"

"Hey, Chloe, honey. How are you? Everything good back home?"

"Everything's fine, thanks. I'm heading back tomorrow."

"That's great! Listen, thanks so much for taking Max in on such short notice. Max, sweetie, we'll make it up to you. You have my word. You have the groceries for dinner, I presume? It might not be on Thanksgiving Day, but I promise you, we will be eating turkey as a family. Now, you have a good time at Chloe's, okay?"

"All right, Dad. Love you. Stay safe!"

"Love you too, honey. See you in a few days!" The call ended.

"Guess I'd better pack, too, then," Max said.

* * *

"Where are you going? The highway's the other way."

It was the next morning, and Max and Chloe had loaded their bags into the truck and were headed back to Oregon. Chloe had called ahead and told her stepfather that Max was joining them. Instead of taking the ramp to the freeway, though, she turned them toward the town center.

"The BIA office. I just want to take a quick look around and ask a couple of questions."

The office turned out to be in a large, drab strip mall situated off a busy intersection. It was a small, one-room outfit with a couple of computer desks, a table with a coffee maker in one corner and ancient-looking printing equipment in the other. The girls walked inside and were greeted by a little old lady in her seventies with reading glasses.

"Why, hello there! How can I help you, my darlings?" she said warmly.

"Hello, ma'am," Max replied.

"Oh, pssh, _ma'am_. So formal! Call me Frieda, darling."

"Okay. Sorry to interrupt you, Frieda, but I'm Max Caulfield. I believe you guys held a Christmas lights contest last year and my parents' house was one of the winners."

"Oh, of course! The Caulfields! Of course I remember! Lovely folks they are! Such a pleasure to interview!"

"Uhh, yes, thank you, ma—err, Frieda." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Chloe becoming impatient. She took out her phone and opened the photo of Jefferson. "Umm, you wouldn't happen to have seen this man here, would you? This is an old photo; he's got long, blond hair now. His name is Mark. He, umm, seemed very interested in our display last year, and we'd love to, uhh, show our gratitude."

"What she meant, Frieda," Chloe spoke up, "is that we saw this man reading the article you put out on the newspaper a few weeks ago, and my friend here ended up having a very pleasant conversation with him. It was really nice meeting him, but we forgot to exchange contact info and we never heard from him again."

"Ah!" Frieda nodded in understanding. "I see what it is! How romantic, just like in the movies! Reminds me of when I was your age!"

At the mention of "romantic" when talking about Jefferson, Max felt as if a little part of her died inside, but she tried her best to hide her reaction. "Uhh, yes!" she agreed. "I felt like we had a real connection going on. I really want to see him again!"

"Well, isn't this your lucky day, darling. Just last week, this very man came by and asked about you! Said you two had a very nice time meeting and he wanted to see you again!"

Max feigned excitement, but she was barely keeping it together. "That's great! Did he leave any kind of contact info, address, anything like that?"

"Oh, no. He just asked for your parents' address, but when we told him we're not allowed to give him that, he just got up and left. Oh, dear. I suppose it's not quite your lucky day after all, then, is it? And then there was the break-in the very next night!"

This piqued the girls' interest. "Break-in?" Chloe asked.

"Oh, yes! Someone just broke the lock on the back door and waltzed in! And you know what the strangest thing was? Nothing was taken!"

 _It has to be him_ , Max thought. _Nothing physical was taken, but he could've gotten access to the computer to dig for information._ She asked Frieda, "Did you report this to the police?"

"No, we didn't, seeing as nothing was taken and hardly any damage was done. Should we have?"

"You probably should," Max told her. "They might have stolen or tampered with your computer data without you knowing."

"Oh, dear! I guess I'd better call them, then."

The girls thanked Frieda for her time and turned to leave. Frieda promised to call the police immediately.

"Well, that lady sure was something," Max commented in tears as they entered the truck. " _Romantic?!_ " she choked.

"Well, she doesn't know," Chloe reasoned. "And why didn't you tell her, exactly?"

"I don't know," Max answered. "What good would it have done?"

"Anyway, forget that! Did you hear what she said about the break-in? Nothing was taken, my ass. Jefferson must've found your parents' address in their computers!"

"Yeah, I know," Max said calmly. "Now, come on, let's get you home before they get suspicious."

As Chloe pulled onto the Interstate, Max called Agent Grayson to let him know about the break-in at the BIA office and its possible connection to the Jefferson case. She spared most of the details, only telling him that she and Chloe had stumbled upon the newspaper article randomly and decided to check out the office.

"Thanks, Miss Caulfield, that could definitely be something. We'll look into it. You should be on your way to Oregon now, right? Be safe."

* * *

Chloe glanced in the rearview mirror. "Hey, check it out," she told Max. "That 'landscaping' van is following us."

Max turned around and saw the van a few vehicles behind the truck. "I guess they're taking the threat more seriously now."

"About time. They'd better do something with that incredible clue we just gave them."

They were just under two hours south of Seattle now, nearing the Columbia River that bordered Washington and Oregon.

"How much longer till we get to Portland?" Max asked.

"We're not going to Portland."

"Huh? Why not?"

"We're taking the state highways. It's a shorter route than going all the way south to Portland." Max checked the map on her phone, and saw that her friend was right, so she asked no further questions. At that moment, they passed a sign indicating the exit to the city of Longview. Chloe took the ramp and they entered a peaceful, idyllic town on the bank of the Columbia.

A few minutes later, they crossed a long cantilever bridge over the river and into Oregon. As traffic thinned out, the van fell farther behind.


	7. Chapter 7

After the girls crossed into Oregon, they drove through rolling hills of pristine farmland, which soon turned into winding, forested mountain roads as they approached the coast. The "landscaping" van kept falling behind until they could no longer see it.

All of a sudden, a disturbing thought popped into Chloe's head. "Max, hear me out, okay?"

"Of course," her friend in the passenger seat replied. "What's up?"

"Let's just assume for a second that Jefferson did get your parents' address from the computers at the BIA."

"Okay."

"So now, he would have gone to the house, right? You know, to scout it out and stuff."

"Yeah, for sure. Whoa, you think he was spying on us?"

"Worse. If he was there, then he would've seen the FBI van, right?"

"Sure, but it was disguised. You know, with the fake landscaping logo."

"That may fool random neighbors, but do you really think he doesn't know? And if he got a picture of the logo..."

"...he could've gotten his own van," Max finished, "and put the same logo on it! Holy shit! So you think that van behind us..."

"Yeah. Can you call Grayson and ask if their van is supposed to be following us right now?"

Max looked at her phone. "No signal, sorry."

"Shit."

They were all alone now, on a little-used highway deep in the Oregon woods. It had been over ten minutes since the girls last saw another vehicle.

But that soon changed. Suddenly, they heard the roar of an engine going full-throttle. The "landscaping" van hurtled around the last bend and charged at the truck. It got close enough that both of the truck's occupants could see the driver clearly now. Like the librarian back in Seattle had described, he had longer, blond hair, no glasses and looked considerably older, but the face was unmistakable.

It was indeed Mark Jefferson.

Max screamed. "Brace for impact!" Chloe commanded as she hit the gas, trying to put some distance between them and the van.

Instead of ramming the truck, however, the van stayed right on its tail. Max looked behind them and saw Jefferson's arm reach out the window holding a shiny, metallic object.

"Gun!" Max cried.

"Get down!" Chloe ordered. They ducked as low as they could.

There was a loud crack, followed by the tinkling of shattering glass. Chloe peered over the dash to avoid driving off the road and pushed harder on the accelerator. It was no use, though, as the van easily kept up with them.

Another shot rang out, followed by more breaking glass. Max and Chloe felt cold wind blasting them from the now-open windows. Three more shots came in quick succession, one flying within inches of Max and embedding itself into the dash.

Then, as quickly as it began, it was over. As they passed an intersection, Jefferson turned onto the cross street and sped away in a cloud of dust.

Looking ahead, the girls realized why. A sign ahead of them indicated that they were approaching a small town. Jefferson had to leave before potential witnesses reported the gunshots and got the authorities scrambling.

Chloe stopped at the first gas station they came to, probably the only one in the little town of hardly two thousand, according to the sign. There, they sat wordlessly, trembling in terror, for minutes before collapsing onto each other's shoulders.

"Holy shit," Max squeaked, finally calming down a bit. "Chloe, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yourself?"

"Yeah."

"That fucking asshole took advantage of us!" Chloe's fear had turned to anger. "We've got to get him, Max. There's no telling what he could do next."

But Max was not quite as resolute now. "I don't know, Chloe. He came _this_ close to killing both of us! Do you want to give him another chance to finish us off?"

Chloe sighed. "Let's just go home. I'm sure David's gonna love the bullet holes on this thing."

"We need to call Grayson! There's a payphone over there." Max pointed to the convenience store.

As Chloe went inside to buy some drinks and snacks, Max made the call. She described to the agent what had happened and where they were.

"Miss Caulfield, our people never followed you, and last night, they only drove by your house a few times, but never stopped. You and your friend need to get home as soon as possible. Stay inside and do not go out. We'll take it from here."

Back on the road, the ride was uncomfortable and cold due to the lack of windows. At least the windshield was still mostly intact and provided some protection against the oncoming rush of air. Fortunately, they didn't encounter any police on the way. The bullet holes and missing windows surely would've aroused suspicion and delayed the trip further.

An hour later, Max and Chloe finally saw a welcoming sight: the Arcadia Bay city limits sign.

Max saw that not much had changed since she was last here more than two years ago. The neighborhood near the shore, where the former Two Whales Diner and many other local businesses were and had been almost completely destroyed by the storm, still laid mostly-empty with only a few structures rebuilt. The prefab diner itself was now gone, with the lot surrounded by construction fencing.

Further inland, things looked better. As Chloe pulled up to the small condominium she and David had moved into after their house was destroyed, Max saw that area had been completely restored. They saw David standing at the main entrance. Upon seeing the truck, he ran toward them.

"Chloe!" he boomed. "What the hell did you—" He caught himself and softened his voice. "Err, I mean, are you all right?"

 _Okay, so they've made progress_ , Max thought. _At least he's saying the right things now_.

"Yeah, we're fine," she called out the window. "Thanks for actually caring, for once."

David looked ready for a retort, but bit his tongue. "Come on, let's get you girls inside."

"Chloe!" a voice cried as the girls walked into the apartment.

"Aunt Mary!" Chloe exclaimed. She ran toward her aunt and they embraced in a long hug. "This is Max. Max, this is my Aunt Mary."

After Max had been introduced to the rest of the family members, she and Chloe went into Chloe's room and sat on the bed.

They were scarcely able to catch their breaths before David walked in without knocking. "So, care to explain what happened?"

"Oh, you know," Chloe replied, "we were just taking a pleasant Sunday drive in the woods and then a homicidal maniac started shooting at us."

"Enough with the sarcasm, young lady. How did you not realize that he was following you? Why did you take such a remote route?"

"Because it was shorter and I wanted to get here faster!" Chloe snapped. "And he drove a van just like the FBI one! He never followed close enough for us to see his face! How were we supposed to know?"

"Did you get his plate number? Make or model of the van?"

"Uhh, we were kinda busy trying not to get shot, so no."

David sighed. "At least you girls are okay. So we know he's in the area now. Can't be long before they find him."

At that moment, the phone in the hallway rang. David left to answer it. For the next hour, the girls hung out in Chloe's room.

"Man, I don't know what's worse," Chloe complained, "being shot at by a lunatic, or having to spend two whole days here in this shithole."

"So, what do we do now?" Max wondered. "Jefferson clearly knows where we are now, and he just showed that he's not afraid to come back here. I doubt we're safe here."

Right on cue, to answer her question, David came back into the room. With him was none other than Agent Grayson.

"Girls," the agent began, "this place isn't safe for you three. We're going to have to take you to a safe location and put you under a full security detail."

"What?" Chloe protested. "No way! We need to catch this creep, and you need our help!"

"I'm not asking," Grayson replied sternly. "You two haven't unpacked yet, right? Grab your bags and follow me. You, too, Sergeant Madsen."

"We did nothing wrong!" Chloe cried. "Why are you treating us like criminals?"

"You're not under arrest," Grayson told her. "This is strictly for your protection. Now, don't make me say it again."

* * *

"I need to go to the bathroom," Chloe announced from the backseat. She gave Max, sitting beside her, a discreet nudge. They had been driving for over an hour now, heading back to Portland where the girls were to be locked in a secret apartment until Jefferson was apprehended. At least Chloe's stepfather was going to a separate location. He had objected vehemently, but was given no choice as another agent came to take him away. Chloe's family had to return to their hotel, and David's condo was now off-limits.

"Uhh, me, too," said Max.

"Nice try," Agent Grayson called from the driver's seat. "You just went half an hour ago."

"I've got a small bladder, okay? You wanna bet on that?" Chloe challenged. "I _will_ pee my pants, all over your car. Just watch me."

"We're almost there."

"Well, I'm gonna pee right now if you don't stop at that rest area up ahead," Chloe threatened.

"Don't you dare."

"Okay, you asked for it. Here it comes—"

"Jesus Christ, fine. You have two minutes. And don't even think about getting any bright ideas in there." He pulled the sedan into the rest stop and parked outside the public toilet.

Max and Chloe jumped out of the car.

"Nuh-uh," Grayson called. "One at a time."

"Seriously?" Chloe complained. "What do you think we're gonna do in there?"

When Chloe finished and went back to the car, Max took her turn. She opened the restroom door and stepped inside. Went she went into the stall, some writing on the wall drew her attention:

 _We have to escape. Don't say anything, room probably bugged. I'll think of something._

Max washed her hands and returned to the car. "There," Chloe said, "was that so hard? What, you actually thought we were going to escape?"

"Can't take any chances with you two," Grayson muttered in response as he steered the car back onto the highway.


End file.
